The knife was as familiar to his hand and as innocuous as a pencil,
in spite of its razor edge. And yet earlier in the day he had
closed his hand on the sharp edge and noticed with surprise that
the steel had sliced painfully, if not seriously, into his palm.
There had been a flow of blood, which he rinsed off at the sink,
and afterward when he again picked up the knife to strip the mill,
it felt different to him, almost like a personal possession, and he
found himself gripping the wooden handle with a new and strangely
pleasant familiarity. 1955 Edgar Award-winning tale of a serial
killer, who finds the criminal disease runs in his family.
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